14th September 2013
Autumn brings condensation on the inside of our windows, so once again, grinning faces, placed there, no doubt, by two mischievous little girls, peer in. Jessica and Imogen, I wonder who that could have been?
I began the day by kicking myself. I had completely forgotten about the photographs of Jamie and The Crazy Hearts taken at Sigoules on 18th May. These would have been perfect for the musical theme of The Firs exhibition. I made some prints for cards and for the next exhibition at the end of this month. Jackie made up the cards.
A bright yellow spiral staircase mimicking sunflowers, set in the side of the dead bark of an ivy covered tree in Upper Drive, turned out to be bracket fungus. We noticed this as we left for another drive to Emsworth to stage two of Becky’s family move.
Wise enough this time to ensure I arrived at the flat after everything had been taken upstairs, I walked along the harbour promenade to Nore Barn Woods which I circumperambulated and then returned to the car where Jackie awaited me outside the Blue Bell (Bell being the bit I couldn’t remember yesterday).
The smell of woodsmoke took me into the woods to check that all was ‘above board’. There I met Roy Ewing, one of a group of volunteers looking after the seven acres for Havant Council who own them. He was burning what had been cleared this morning. I told him about my meetings with volunteer litter-pickers and he informed me of his group’s website.
In the harbour at low tide there were one or two people bringing their small boats to rest. A dog walker struggled with boulders that formed part of the sea wall along the promenade, in an attempt to conceal a plastic bag of excrement. It seemed problematic, because he only had one free hand. A toddler in a pushchair must have been called John. He had one shoe off and one shoe on. I imagine it was his grandmother who was doing the pushing. When I asked him where his shoe was, she said with a smile: ‘People keep asking that. We’ve got it’. His presumed Mum came rushing up waving a little white garment. ‘And the sock’, she cried. I guess she had gone in search of it.
Flo wasn’t feeling up to a curry, so she didn’t join the rest of us for our marathon meal at Spice Village. This huge establishment in St. Peter’s Square, was bursting at the seams. Had it been further down the hill in the harbour it would have been at serious risk of sinking. The waiters worked at a rate of knots for the three hours plus that it took for us to finish. The man who received our main order rattled it off so fast that Matthew asked him how many auctions he’d conducted. Even the bill took twenty minutes, after we’d asked for it, to arrive, and then only after I’d visited the desk to say we really needed it. The food was superb, which explained the lack of an empty chair in the whole place.
The length of time taken to eat was the reason we returned, with Matthew, to Castle Malwood Lodge with no time to post this piece, which was done the next morning.